But I’m such a Nice Guy

One thing that really, honestly baffles me every time it happens at work is the punters trying to talk me into sex. I don’t mean guys offering to pay me for sex: it’s annoying if they keep at it after I’ve said no, but I can see how the logic works. I mean, I’ve gotten naked for cash, so I can get that they think it might be worth a shot to ask for a hand job or something. What I really cannot understand is the guys who think that through the sheer force of their winning personality they can convince me to fuck them for free. At work. In a booth. Bear in mind, this is in a city where prostitution is not only legal but extremely widespread (heh)- one of the reasons I stopped doing full service work was that the glut of young, nubile and extremely attractive women in the industry made getting a decent amount of work difficult (yeah, book your flights now). So I can’t for the life of me imagine what their logic is, apart from maybe the misguided notion that someone who isn’t a full-time whore would be “cleaner” or something.

It’s happened often enough now that I’ve detected a strange and slightly worrying pattern in the guys who try it. Not that there’s any particularly common thread in terms of appearance or age or affluence- it’s rather more subtle than that. Namely, that every approach each of these guys take is exactly the same as a guy trying to get you to fuck him in high school. I don’t just mean it’s the same sort of “oh come on baby, it’ll be fun” kind of vibe- I mean it’s word-for-word taken straight from the mouth of a guy at a seniors party.

All the other girls here do it

Really? Well gee whiz, I guess if I want to get to go to Casey Nichol’s big party after the formal then I’ll have to get in with the cool crowd and WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? I’m 23 years old, you idiot. Do you honestly think my main goal in life is to fit in with the cool kids at the peep show? I can guarantee you, if any of the other girls DO fuck you, which I doubt, they sure as hell aren’t doing it out of the kindness of their little stripper hearts.

I just broke up with my girlfriend

Sure, makes sense you’d come and watch strippers, then. What doesn’t make sense is you thinking that your tale of woe is going to move me right onto your naked lap. The fact that you’re here, now, paying to watch a woman dance naked tells me right off the bat that no, you probably don’t have a date this evening. Has this worked for you in the past? Have you walked up to women in bars and whined about what that lying cheating bitch did to you and had them leap upon you, cradling your head against their nurturing bosom and cooing softly “There now, brave little bear, let me kiss it better”?

I just think you’re really pretty

It didn’t work in the back of a Holden, and it’s not going to work now.

But I want to

That’s the one that always gets me. The bambi eyes, slightly quivering lip, like a horny little match girl staring wistfully through the wintery window of my crotch. “But I WANT to.” From a forty year old businessman. Well, golly, mister, if I’d known it meant that much to you I’d have bent over and grabbed my ankles the minute you walked through the door.

Just to reiternate, I’m not actually surprised that punters would try their luck, and a couple of hundred dollar bills can be pretty persuasive. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been at least tempted by a particularly pricey offer or two. But a grown man actually sulking because you won’t fuck him for a 50/50 split with the house of his forty bucks and a “I like your shoes”? That’s just sad, dude.